Your humble servant
by lonaj
Summary: Journal of tense trip across Siberia that ends in near disaster
1. Default Chapter

### Your Humble Servant

20 September 1862

Made our last scheduled stop at F___ for fuel and to pick up forwarded telegrams.Chatsworth cables condemnation of our gamble.Sir Carr begs our care for his daughter Jude.

21 September 1862

I believe geographers label this landscape as tundra.The land we fly over is as open and empty of life as I can imagine the moon.Occasional herds of some type of cattle (we are too high to discern species) run from our shadow.We speed easterly.

Miss Jude had another fit last eventide and it was all Fogg could do to restrain her hand from taking her own life.Rebecca sleeps with her in Fogg's bedchamber to prevent mishaps.The rest of us sling hammocks in the salon, taking turns at the helm so as to fly day and night, so urgent is our need to reach Tchersky.The pipes barely keep up with the night's chill.

22 September 1862

The weather has turned bad.We had a near collision with an early blizzard, escaping with only a snapped cable that Passepartout easily repaired.The tossing about frightened all of us, Miss Jude particularly, who cowered in the bed, moaning.Her return to lucidity has suffered another setback I'm afraid.

25 September 1862

This morning we alighted to take on water on the eastern shore of the D___, one of the largest rivers in Siberia.From a steep bank, Passepartout shouted, "Look, look!"He stood next to huge bones, protruding from the frozen loam at crazy angles, each longer than I am tall and too enormous for even an elephant."Common here," Fogg said. "In places you find huge piles of them mixed with ivory tusks.Some type of early pachyderm, I believe."

I begin to think there is no part of our planet this man has not seen.

While Passepartout and I loaded water and attended to some less pleasant tasks of sanitation, Fogg strode the bank, carrying a double-barreled shotgun and on the ready for Siberia's famous wolves and bears.

Fogg no longer affects his dandified hipshot stance.He springs about lightly on the balls of his feet as if momentarily expecting fisticuffs from any corner.I believe of us all, he most keenly feels Miss Jude's mania to retrieve her sickly baby brother.Guilt will cry out to guilt and Miss Jude has no Rebecca to hold hers in check.

26 September 1862

Elsewhere in my journals I have already several times described my traveling companions but today I learned something so surprising that re-visitation may be in order.

Jean Passepartout's face exemplifies the physiognomist's assertion one's character is written on the countenance for every man to read.His is a pleasant one, lips a trifle protruding, his complexion rubicund, with shiny brown eyes, all on the type of good round head that bespeaks the best of men for friendship.I consider him my friend, nay, the best of friends and have trusted him many times with my life.

So you may consider my astonishment at the following conversation.

Passepartout who had the helm in the later hours of last evening had just arisen.We two were together in the galley preparing a light meal, while Fogg now at the helm conversed with Rebecca and an unresponsive Miss Jude.

"Oh, no!"Passepartout exclaimed behind me."No, no, no!"Alarmed lest he was hurt, I cried, "What is it?Did you burn yourself?" and grabbed a sprig of aloe vera from among the potted herbs in the galley porthole.However, Passepartout was unharmed.He stood in the galleyway pointing at Fogg's oblivious back.

"My master, he has given up the style.He does not cut the dash.Oh, it is so sad!"Indeed Fogg this morning wore a homespun shirt over trousers cut from coarse blue jean cloth.I would not have suspected him even to own such garments.

Passepartout turned to me, real tears in his eyes."Such a delectable, gorgeous man!What must be his thoughts of my skills!His clothing so wrenched!"

"I'm certain he loves you, Passepartout," I said and was about to add, 'as we all do.'But Passepartout interrupted me."Love?No, no. He not love me, never will I nose his lips.Miss Rebecca locks his hearts aways.They beatify together, yes?I can but envy her his love."

I fear my mouth hung open in astonishment.Passepartout's devotion to the female sex cannot be questioned.Many times have I observed Jean's shameless flirtations with the housemaids at Shillingworth Magna.Last year he and I (oh my, should I write this down?) spied on the ladies' steam bath at Herrington Place in London and exchanged the most ribald observations about the various shapes in which God created women.

I believe I answered something, I know not what.Passepartout seems to see nothing amiss.The man's honesty confounds my prejudices.


	2. Chapter 2

27 September 1862

Fogg shot an elk to replenish our larder.Passepartout accompanied him on the expedition and when they returned to relocate the Aurora and retrieve the meat, Jean's worship of Fogg shone through his eyes.I've seen that look before, but wonder now that I've never really understood it.Later, the jolly little fellow re-enacted the hunt in every detail for we three who'd been left behind.Miss Jude livened to his clowning and when Fogg entered the room, Miss Jude brightened even more.My hope for her recovery blooms.

30 September 1862, early morning

On such a long journey aboard a small craft, privacy can be hard to achieve.Due to its intimate nature, I hesitate to record what last night I witnessed, but firmly believe in later years this will assist my resolve to create a Fogg biography by revealing the man's gentler side.So often does his icy English reserve spark my more passionate Gallic nature, I lose sight of the man's humanity.But heaven help me if Phileas ever sees these lines!I must keep this journal under lock and key.

It becomes increasingly evident that guarding Miss Jude's restless nights robs Rebecca of too many hours of rest.Bruises surround those lovely green eyes and her toilette is not quite up to her usual standards of coiffure and raiment.Late last night, after several bouts of Miss Jude's murmuring and moaning heard clearly throughout the Aurora, Fogg ventured to pull the curtain to the ladies' bedchamber.My hammock hung just so to observe while Passepartout at the helm was oblivious, which was probably fortunate for that good man's spirit.I could see Fogg bend over Rebecca's tousled red curls and whisper something in her ear.His gesture toward the salon suggested re-location and an offer to superintend the restless Miss Jude's night terrors.

Rebecca acquiesced, although reluctantly I'm sure, and was soon curled up on a padded bench not an arm's length from my hammock, instantly asleep.Perhaps I should mention, lest I forget in my later years, that a sleeping hammock is a tricky object in which to repose and not at all the thing for a lady, even one so athletic as Miss Rebecca, to attempt in a female sleeping garment.

In Miss Rebecca's drowsiness she may not have felt the cabin's chill.At any rate she failed to provide herself with a coverlet so I slipped out of my hammock to fetch one of Fogg's fine down quilts from the storage closet outside the sleeping compartment.Thus through the open chamber curtain I was an unintentional eavesdropper on the next.

Apparently Rebecca's departure aroused Miss Jude for her eyes were open and she conversed in low tones with Fogg, his severe dark head bent close to her shining silver blonde to catch faint words.I too could hear some of what she said, for at times the Aurora reverberates like the tin can she is."You are dead," I heard the girl say."I saw you die.There was blood!So much blood, everywhere.All over you.I tried to stop it but more came out.More and more."

Fogg made soft, comforting sounds as if to child, for indeed a child Miss Jude seems.She is such a tiny thing, short enough to walk under my outstretched arm, and innocent even for a delicately reared female just out of the schoolroom."Steady.Steady.I am unharmed.Shhh . . ." I heard Fogg whisper.

I have several times observed that Mr. Fogg has an especial tenderness for the emotionally destitute, his biting sarcasm being reserved for those who can well withstand its teeth.However, nothing would satisfy Miss Jude other than she see with her own eyes that Fogg had suffered no wound so he stripped off his shirt and sat next to her on the bed clad only in trousers.I must say for a man who favors cognac and a fine table, Fogg keeps himself a superior physical specimen.After Miss Jude's shaking hands touched every inch of his muscular torso and found no injury, her tears began to flow, and her head bent to Fogg's chest whilst her arms tightly clasped about him.As often happens, after a few minutes the tears led to drowsiness although Miss Jude's grasp, from what I could see, did not slacken a bit.Rather than wake the woman, I presume, Fogg lifted his legs from the deck and stretched out beside her on top of the coverlet, all the while issuing gentle, soothing sounds, "So, so, so."

At this point I thought it best to retreat, and taking the almost forgotten quilt into the salon I spread it over Miss Rebecca as gently as I could.Apparently not gently enough, for she without opening her eyes asked, "How do they fare, Jules?Is Jude asleep?"

To which I responded, "Yes, I think at last she has achieved some quietude, Miss Rebecca," and dared to give the breath of a kiss to one of her precious red curls.After which I quickly hopped back into my hammock as I was chilled myself and had next turn at the helm, which, I can tell you, came all too soon.

30 September 1862, evening

This morning Miss Jude's whole aspect enjoyed a tremendous turn about.The dementia and tears that have so frequently clouded her blue eyes have gone.Indeed it as though she is a different being.Miss Rebecca re-introduced her to myself and Passepartout as though we have not been her bosum companions for these three weeks or more and she treated us as newly met acquaintances.Of the men, Fogg alone seemed known, however, her first reaction to his presence was a blush so deep as make one fear for her health.

Fogg, showing a delicacy of sensibility, took over the helm from Passepartout's willing hands and suggested that the rest of us inveigle that worthy to prepare a morning meal in the salon to which we immediately retired.

Ever the comedian seeking to cheer those around him, Passepartout observed to us, "Miss Jude, she whole new men, no?It is good to see her so regurgitated."And carrying on this line of banter, he prepared a hot and filling meal of tinned milk, porridge and pickled meats.

After re-charging our energies with this and several pots of steaming hot Darjeeling, we rejoined Fogg on the observation deck, and Rebecca persuaded Miss Jude to relate her version of the events that led us to our high-speed transit of Russia's Siberian territories.I transcribed it as best I could and write down here in Miss Jude's own words the tale of her baby brother's abduction.

"Sir Jonathan," by which Miss Jude means Rebecca's superior in the Secret Service, Sir Jonathan Chatsworth, "told me due to some ugly letters sent to my father, who as you may know is the prime minister of New Beltrain, William and I were be protected around the clock.He said England values the friendship of New Beltrain and would be greatly distressed if Sir Carr's children were to be any way harmed, but I suppose they value our large stores of gold ore far more," Miss Jude said and smiled knowingly.Miss Jude may not be as innocent as I first thought.

"Sir Jonathan said he could assign an agent to watch over us."Here Fogg let go a hmmph-ing sort of sound, indicating I suppose his disapproval of Chatsworth assigning one person to maintain around-the-clock protection.Indeed, I believe Fogg became involved when Rebecca requested his help as relief.

"Miss Rebecca was wonderful assistance!Not only did I feel we were safe from the most violent elements of London, she changed William's diapers when the nanny cashed in after the first kidnapping attempt.Not that I blame Marianne.William's sickness makes him a trying baby.Constant tears and coughing.And losing our mother so young." Miss Jude paused for a moment to re-gather her spirits.Tragedy heaped upon tragedy has this brave girl suffered.

"I met Miss Rebecca's cousin, Mr. Fogg, after that first attempt." Miss Jude's silver blonde head dipped and a slow blush crept up her pale throat.It was becoming evident that Miss Jude has been much taken with Fogg's manly vigor."He . . . he assisted Miss Rebecca in investigating the events, but they were unable to capture the two brigands we saw."

Miss Rebecca added here, "Imperial Russian operatives was our best guess but they went in deep cover before we could acquire them."

"At any rate," Miss Jude continued, "from then on either Mr. or Miss Fogg was with us all the while. But I blame only myself for William's abduction.My father charged me with his health and care.After losing Mama, I don't think he could bear to lose William too," so saying Miss Jude's tears and sobs threatened to return full force.

"That is so unfair!" I said."You're just a child yourself.Your father can't expect you to take on such a burden."But this only made Miss Jude cry the more.At this point, Rebecca gathered Miss Jude to her bosom and indicated to Passepartout that he should relieve Fogg at the helm.Phileas sat the bench next to Miss Jude and stroked her shoulders with a gentle hand.

"Miss Jude, you said that I was dead.Why did you say that?" he asked her trembling back.

This inquiry from her Ideal brought the girl back to her narrative and she turned and answered after some sniffling."Both you and Miss Rebecca were with us when the second and successful attempt was made.We were all in the nursery at the New Beltrain embassy, I had just rocked William to sleep and put him in his crib.You and Miss Rebecca were at the table with those horrible long pistols ready to hand.I think you were playing whist.

"I thought an earthquake had struck.The room rumbled and shook.Then a horrible bright light blinded me and a shiny metallic Creature stepped right out of it."Miss Jude started to tremble again."Before you could move, Mr. Fogg, he shot you right here," she laid her hand over Fogg's heart. "There was just one shot but Miss Rebecca fell as well.You lay on the floor together, and I tried in vain to stop your bleeding.When at last I looked up the Creature stepped through the wall with William in his arms.I remember nothing after that."

Rebecca held Miss Jude's head and made her teary, blue eyes meet her green ones, "We were not shot.We are not dead.You know that now, don't you?"

To which Miss Jude replied, "Yes, Mr. Fogg, he, last night, I mean, yes, I know." This time Miss Jude's blush threatened to burn the Aurora to cinders.I wish I could describe the quick look that passed between Rebecca and Fogg, but no man-made language can capture Miss Rebecca's unspoken question or Fogg's denial.

Fogg went on, "There was no blood shed, Miss Jude.The Creature's weapon must confuse the mind.We were only rendered unconscious."Fogg leaned forward."Did you see the Creature leave the ransom letter?"The silver head shook a repudiation.Fogg continued, "And so we still chase a possible Chimera, but Tchersky the letter said and Tchersky will remain our goal."

Miss Jude wandered about the Aurora for the rest of the day as if she had not spent the last weeks within its confines.Her complexion clears rapidly.


	3. Chapter 3

#### 1 October 1862

Now you must know that ordinarily Fogg never turns a hair.I swear the man has a passionate nature, but it rarely reaches his demeanor.Even in his cups he merely becomes louder and a trifle stumble bum.I, of course, set aside the times when grief has turned his mind.Our extended confinement on board the Aurora grates on all our sensibilities since no escape is permitted from hourly close contact.

Today I chanced on the end of an argument between he and Rebecca." . . . Perhaps you want it too, Rebecca, as everyone else aboard," I heard as I entered the salon.Fogg seemed completely out of sorts, the man's eyes shot fire and he bared his teeth as if facing a sworn enemy rather than his beloved cousin.

"Now that annoys me!How dare you say such a thing!" Rebecca's replied then made a lightning move with her right arm.With a wide movement Fogg swept away her arm and in a trice locked it behind her back and wrapped one of his own arms round her neck.

"Rebecca," he said into her ear."You of all people must know I'm not in the habit of de-flowering maidens.Give me some credit."

I could not hear Rebecca's answer, but Fogg's next words were, "Eh, what's that?You're sorry?Shall we call a truce then, dear cuz?"And when she did not respond, he jostled her a little.

I was beginning to think I should interfere in this set to, but Miss Jude chose that moment to call out from a few feet down the companionway, "Mr. Fogg?Miss Rebecca?Where is everyone?"And Fogg, looking about, saw me standing there.He instantly released Rebecca, stepping back with a surrendering, hands lifted gesture.

"If you'd like refresher tai chi lessons, Cousin, it would be my pleasure to oblige," Fogg offered to Rebecca's rigid retreating back as she brushed first past me and then an astonished Miss Jude.Although Rebecca avoided my eyes, her high color and trembling lips revealed her state of mind.I have rarely seen her so agitated.

Fogg returned my glare with his coldest, most English look.The cliffs at Dover were no more stony-faced than he.

That was all mid-day and as I reflect on it now in the quiet of this snowy evening, with flakes whispering off the observation glass on which I rest my head, I realize that of those onboard Aurora I am the only one completely dis-interested in the physical attentions of this man.Perhaps it is a burden for him, although that is no excuse for his attack on a woman.

2 October 1862

Miss Jude is really the most delightful child!This morning she begged me to relate the mysteries of Aurora's operation, which I did to the best of my ability only deferring to Passepartout once or twice regarding the operation of galley and heating systems.

Miss Rebecca and Fogg speak not to each other, no small effort aboard the Aurora where one can scarcely turn about without colliding with another passenger.For the first time this trip Fogg has brought out his decanter of port.We all keenly feel this rift between the cousins.I resolve to reveal to Rebecca what I observed four nights agone.Perhaps it will clear the air.I believe she is in the bedchamber.I will go to her now.

I found Rebecca at last in the workroom, attempting to open with far too large a blade an enameled locket on a fine gold chain.Her head bent close over her work, oblivious to me, I could for a moment observe the smokeless fire of her hair, the black-lashed intent eyes, the strength of her sweet fingers.

"Here," I said when she looked up, "let me help you with that," and took it out of her hands.I had the feeling from the set of her generous lips that she would have liked to snatch the locket back straightway.

As I used a small buttonhook to work it, I began my discourse on Fogg's night of watching Miss Jude."Rebecca, this disagreement between you and Phileas has to stop," was my clumsy opening gambit."Nothing happened between him and Miss Jude, you know.I saw it.Miss Jude fell asleep in his arms."

"Oh, is that what you think this is about, Jules?Me protecting Miss Carr?Oh for heaven's sake," she said and made a half-hearted attempt to acquire her locket.I say half-hearted because she was unsuccessful.A full-hearted Rebecca would not only have retrieved the locket but wrapped its chain around my neck as a garrote.

Said locket stubbornly held closed.I switched to a fine lock pick.

"Well, I suppose you deserve an explanation.You and Passepartout are as close to family as I'll have again."Rebecca paused, her eyes watching my hands tease the locket's clasp.

"When I was 16, Phileas returned alone from school to visit Sir Boniface and me at Shillingworth Magna, I can't remember why.I confess at the time I was besotted with Phil.He was four years older and as handsome as a demon prince."Rebecca still held the blade she had tried on the locket.In contemplation of this long ago time she twirled it limberly back and forth among her fingers.I stopped my work anxious that she cut herself, but she laid the blade down again.

"One day we went racing our horses up the moors.I madly challenged him to catch me.Which he eventually did but only after a foot race down the beach of Lake Fogg.He knocked me to the ground and pinned me down, both of us laughing wildly."

At this moment the locket came open in my hands to reveal a shiny curl of jet-black hair.I looked up at Rebecca.She took the locket and stroked the curl."I had the most romantic notions that year and would have it that all the Fogg children would join Sir Boniface's Secret Service, including me.I had this plan in my head to guarantee it and Phileas figured large therein.So, there on the beach, what would have been a childish game just six months before became a provocation to something else.I kissed Phil oh so passionately on the lips.I thought it was rather good for my very first kiss.But then I went on to beg him to take away my virginity." She looked up at me with an impish grin. "If you must know, I was not then clear on what virginity involved but knew its removal required male assistance.Well, you can imagine what Phileas did."

Since the only thing in my head was what I would have done given such an opportunity, I said, "No, actually I'm not quite sure."

"He threw me in the lake!" Rebecca exclaimed.

"Oh no!" I commiserated.

"But I got back at him," Rebecca went on."I pretended to drown and, taking the bait he jumped in to save me.I gave him a sound dunking."She shook her head."We were quite a sight.The feathers on my riding bonnet hung in my face, and Phileas's beaver hat just floated away.When he emptied the water out of his boots, a fish this big," with her fingers she measured a space of three inches or so, "fell out.It's a wonder the horses would carry us back to the manor."We chuckled together.

"But you're right, Jules," Rebecca continued."This can't go on.I must make amends with Phileas."She snapped the locket shut, kissed it and with my help settled it around her neck."Thank you," she said and awarded me with a sisterly buss on the lips.For such prizes I live.


	4. Chapter 4

I have lost track of the date.Possibly 7 October 1862.It's early evening.

Forgive me my journal for these days of neglect.Much has happened.Some days ago we made an unexpected and disastrous arrival at our destination, and so desperate was our condition that one of our party nearly formed a permanent acquaintance with Hades.Fogg that was, and it took two days and a night for him to fully revive and speak.During this time Rebecca kept him a near constant vigil, saying only, "You know how irritable Phileas is if he can't find what he wants."Indeed, upon re-awakening, his cousin's name was the first word to escape Fogg's lips.I believe Passepartout suffered even more anxiety than Rebecca and I during that dreadful time, since his own injuries kept Jean mostly abed.Miss Jude now shakes periodically with delayed fear.I hope she does not relapse into her former madness.Our captors while not vicious do not treat the child with any great kindness.

A woman named Talbott, who seems to be a physician, assures us Fogg has suffered no permanent harm from his brush with the hereafter.I can scarcely believe it after witnessing that death.My own fingers tested his carotid artery for the pulse of life and found nothing.

We are now the prisoners of an organization called the "BeamMeUp Corporation."Its name surrounds us everywhere, on our plates, the walls, on the paper on which I write, even on these borrowed clothes!This corporation seem in some ways as diabolical as the League of Darkness, and in others kindness itself – witness the restoration of life to Fogg.None of them are forthcoming with answers to any of our questions, and Fogg adjures us to keep our counsel so little information flows either way.He still lies abed and his cousin Rebecca is much subdued and hollow-eyed.Her red hair hangs limply and undressed, not even braided.It expresses well her disarray.Our captors soon disarmed us on our arrival and our every step is now plagued with guards.Rebecca does not protest and that is much unlike her.Fogg is yet too weak to take up firmly the yoke of command.We are all in disorder.These kidnappers have the upper hand and look like to keep it.

But I get ahead of myself.I had best return to the morning of our disastrous arrival here at the Tchersky.

After finishing my last entry (alas, written in my own journal which is yet to be recovered!), I slung my hammock for the night.Fogg and Passepartout were to do turn and turn-about service at the helm and talked quietly of mundane things in the observation room.I remember that no aroma of brandy wafted and being grateful for it.The Misses Fogg and Carr were abed already, Rebecca apparently postponing her reconciliation 'til morning.I tell you where we all located so you understand what follows.

Passepartout tells me that in the earliest hours of the morning, in that hour some call false dawn, he saw a trembling distortion racing towards us across the open waters of Lake M_____.But he apprehends it only in retrospect and curses his idiocy in tones reminiscent of Fogg at his most vituperative.The engineers here tell me what they call a "transformation shock wave" hit the Aurora and have played for me on a zoetrope device the image of that same wave traveling across a snowy landscape.The wave looked like no thing on earth, at ground level tossing snow and spray into the air but scarcely visible at any great height.

At any rate, from what I can deduce when their "wave" hit the Aurora starboard, it entangled the small ballonet on that side in the gondola's supporting cables.I awoke in terror with my hammock swinging crazily after slamming the overhead.Below me the deck tilted 30 degrees or more to port.Every piece of furniture in the salon not bolted down, that is to say, all the antique Chippendale chairs and other decorative oddments lay either heaped on the port bulkhead or slid precariously along the table, traveling in that direction.The palest light of dawn illuminated a scene to credit Bosch.

Fogg himself climbed through the access to the observation cabin.I could see behind him shattered windows and the fouled cables of the starboard bag but no Passepartout."Are you hurt?" Fogg shouted at me over the Aurora's agonized groans and the rushing wind.At my negative headshake, he continued, "Help Passepartout.He's cut.I'm going to check on the ladies."Thus saying he traveled past me, controlling his movement hand over hand along the table.Perhaps I should mention that the Aurora's original unknown designers apparently decreed all her heaviest furnishings, including the salon table, were to be bolted down.I could hear the deck protest the un-accustomed load reversal but hold it did.

Inelegantly I decanted myself from my hammock, grateful that due to considerations of propriety and warmth, I had taken to sleeping in my clothes and shoes.I too used the table for a brace and though it meant a side trip, went to fetch the medicine chest from the galley before attempting to reach the observation room and assist Passepartout.Fortunately, the galley suffered only minor disorder since all Aurora's cabinets were fitted with Passepartout's ingenious self-locking catches and I quickly put my hands on our well-stocked apothecary.

Returning through the salon I met Fogg, Rebecca and Miss Jude.The ladies were pulling on clothes and shoes pell-mell while Fogg strapped his prize American Bowie knife to his trim waist.

Fogg told me, "Give the kit to Rebecca and go make sure the boiler hasn't started a fire!" and that I moved to do straightway.I found our small boiler out.Undoubtedly our crazy angle had folded the ballonet over the exhaust and smothered combustion.I spent several precious minutes closing valves and testing fittings.As there was nothing more to be done until we righted, I hurried back toward the helm, walking duck-like down the companionway, my left foot on the port wall, my right on the tilted deck.Then I once again clambered across the salon, my hand on the thrice-blessed bolted table until I reached the observation room door, noting in passing that the starboard exterior hatch hung open.

It looks that I am to be interrupted.Two men are attempting to move Fogg from his bed to a wheeled chair, an endeavor in which he cooperates not at all.I must abandon my writing and mediate or outright hostilities will erupt at any moment.

8 October 1862? Or thereabouts.

Not only Fogg, but all of us were assembled last night.The Misses Jude and Rebecca even taken from their slumber.They joined us dressed in the same soft grey pantaloons, knitted shirts and rubber-soled shoes we men have been given for our wear.Miss Jude was rigid with embarrassment from her queer attire.

What followed then was an interminable quizzing by a group of men and women.They were introduced to us as scientists and engineers, although one wonders what there is of science in kidnapping. They were much excited and their questions rained fast and hard.They seemed unsure of our purpose here.One of their number asked where we "got that honey of a dirigible" and another asked if we were "making a move-ee" because "our period costumes were fantastic."Still another, and more suspicious one, demanded "who sent you?"

Fogg collected himself enough to command us with his eyes and none of us answered.We told only our names.Even that seemed to create an uproar amongst them and suggests they may know the British Secret Service and its agents.

I think it was hardest on Miss Jude.Although she did her best to keep from weeping, she cringed when queries were directed at her.Finally, I leapt up and protested our treatment as all of us shook from exhaustion, and our captors shamefacedly returned us to our dormitories for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

10 October 1862?

One thing I have noticed of our captors, at Tchersky everything happens suddenly.The trackless locomotives, the whirligig flying machines and even the people themselves all move and talk at breakneck speed.The Aurora has been lifted by one of the largest whirligigs and now rests on the snow just a hundred feet or so from this room.I can see its bow through my tiny window.Workmen fit the observation room with new glass that an engineer named Greg Peters tells me is unbreakable.They have begun repairs on the mangled undercarriage.Other workmen replace severed cables and even repair our tumbled furniture.They wanted one of us to answer questions and whatnot and Fogg, of course, insisted upon himself, since as he says, "It's my property!" even though it is just today he is permitted out of bed.He now limps about out there with one of his myriad canes.Fogg does not trust what seems generosity and wonders at its purpose.They continue to keep us captive, so it is not for us they make repairs.Fogg thinks they intend to use the Aurora, but I don't think so.They have far more wondrous machines than she.To me this magnanimity has something of the odor of guilt, of which I've nosed enough to feel I can identify the whiff.There are many days of repairs ahead before Aurora shall fly again.

Rebecca has recovered enough from the near loss of her cousin to argue with him at least once or twice a day, as was her usual wont; but I am happy to say their tiff from before Tchersky seems fallen by the wayside.She has sat each day on Fogg's bed as they discussed our situation and seems much cheered that he is now ambulatory.

There are no longer hollows in Fogg's customarily lean cheeks but I suspect the count of gray hairs amongst his black ones has significantly increased.He has tried to convalesce quietly but to inhabit this room with him is not unlike living with a tiger.Even more so now that he is out of bed, perhaps more like a whole cage of tigers.

This morning Fogg castigated me for chatting with a guard saying, "These are not our friends, Verne!Try to remember that for more than five minutes, if you please!"To which I responded, "Nor are they certainly our enemies from what I can see."

Later Passepartout tried to reassure me, "He not bite this bark."Jean has little to do in this captivity and his eyes spend much time on his master. I assured Passepartout that caution was foremost in my mind, but I cannot believe these Tchersky people are kidnappers.Many of the questions they ask are very particular concerning certain principles of time and space.And if these are the kidnappers, we have not yet seen William nor have they demanded a ransom.They don't answer us when we inquire after him but exchange mysterious looks among themselves.There seems to be no leader with whom we may parley.Peters is definitely not the decision maker here.I think they are in as much disarray as we.

I see that I have left my narrative of our capture unfinished.I return.

When at last I gained the observation cabin that morning, the wind no longer blew so briskly through the shattered windows, so I assumed that most of our forward motion had ceased.I was amazed so little broken glass lay about as the windows had surely exploded inwards, but then I saw the last of it sliding down our sharply tilted deck to cascade out along with small tools and other items through the opened portside window into the waters of Lake M______ no more than 100 feet away.We had lost much altitude.I found Passepartout draped over the helm, trying to work its locking pins into their holes.Miss Jude did her inexpert best to assist him.A bloody bandage wrapped Jean's left forearm but droplets still escaped and dripped off his hands, adding a slick covering of red to the bright blue helm globe, the locking pins and the deck below.Things were indeed in a bad way if this poor man was not yet off his feet.

"Passepartout," I cried, "leave it, man.We've no steam for steering anyway!"

"Master says must lock the helm before they finish theys cuts.Hurry, hurry!Help us, please!"Passepartout replied.Our three sets of hands at last had the helm globe locked in position.Each of the attitude and aileron controls was also chained down and not a moment too soon.Out the starboard window in the morning's soft light we could see Fogg in the rigging cutting the hemp and cotton cables with his sturdy Bowie knife.Rebecca stood on the Aurora's lower deck below him, calling out what she could observe of the tension on the lines.She had on a cloak and hat but Fogg wore only the thick wool shirt and jean trousers he'd favored the past few days.He was close enough I could see the blueness of his lips, and the dark contrast of whiskers against white cheeks.We in the now unprotected observation cabin were scarce warmer.Our breath blew mist on the early morning air and Passepartout's blood froze on the deck.Even Jean's bloody bandage crackled with ice.It seemed we might die of exposure if the Aurora did not deposit us in the lake below.

It appears that I may be interrupted again.I see the engineer Peters emerging from the Aurora and running in this direction with a sheet of paper in his hand.An enraged Fogg follows limping well behind and one of his guards follows him.I feel sure Peters brings me something to explain.For some strange reason, since we gave our names to the inhabitants of this place, they defer to me somewhat.


	6. Chapter 6

10 October 1862? midnight

Peters' paper of this morning was revealed to be the ransom letter Fogg found in William's crib.Peters' excitement was unbounded.He waved his arms about so fast he seemed to have six of them rather than the usual allotment of two.And when the winded and furious Fogg finally arrived, Peters demanded to know where the paper had been acquired.Before I thought I answered, "London."Peters ran out promising that we would have something called a "de-briefing" on the morrow.I suspect this may be another quizzing.

Now, I have only shortly mentioned this document, but as a ransom letter it is past confusing.It reads in part, "Notice!REWARD OFFERED!If found, please call 1.800.555.1293 or email us at [tchersky@beammeup.consortium.com][1].Reward for return $5,000 American," this all printed in a dozen European languages.The only things that made sense to us were "reward" and "tchersky."This letter brought us across Siberia in the first beginnings of winter.Apparently it is quite important to Peters as well.

Surely no location on my earth can house what I've seen here at Tchersky, or perhaps it is no time.I do not know, but can believe almost anything after our fantastic adventures on the Phoenix.I find much here to excite my scientific interest, but aside from our captivity there is much that repels as well.On the dexter hand, commonplace wonders abound, for example the ingenious interlocking strips that closure almost all our borrowed clothes, or the omnipresent (and horribly bright!) electric lighting, or even this smoothly flowing pen with its translucent barrel.On the other sinister hand, every furnishing and fitting is absolutely and perfectly uniform.One can scarce tell one room from the next there is so little to distinguish them.The food and beverages they bring to us are blandly tasteless beyond all belief!And as for such basic needs as privacy and good manners, well, as I have heard them say here, you don't want to go there.I suppose this is typical of prisons, but I believe these rooms were not designed with that in mind.

As I write Phileas and Passepartout sleep close in our men's dormitory unbothered by this shielded electric lamp.Fogg is, however, still infuriated with me for answering Peters regarding the ransom letter.Even now sleeping, his backside manages to convey furious disdain.Perhaps it is the rigid width of his broad shoulders, or the bristling of his unfashionably short hair.But I recall the events of just a few days ago, and I cannot respond to him in kind.For now and the foreseeable future, this hero will have my worship, whether he accepts it or no.

But I procrastinate.I have resolved to complete my unfolding of our arrival.

My narration left Fogg in the rigging, attempting to correct the gondola's suspension before we should drown in the lake below.The shore now visible out the bow window was still an eternity away for our stalled craft.Fogg sawed at this line and that.Loose cording whipped about and the starboard gasbag hindered his every move.It was tricky work.He had to free no more lines than necessary, too many and the gondola would part ways with the main ballonet.

Rebecca observing beneath him on the starboard deck shouted in to us, "Hold on to something, I think this is the last!" and indeed it was.The gondola slammed down and oscillated uncontrollably.Rebecca tells me she came very close to slipping off the outer deck, and hung for a short while from the railing.In the observation room we three were tossed back and forth, I having to seize Passepartout by his clothing since his one good hand was not enough to hold him. We rolled about, banging into furniture and benches, until the pendular motion of the gondola finally ceased.

But the horror of that cessation!Rebecca in an extremity of distress, screamed at me through the broken starboard window, "Higher, higher!We're dragging Phileas in the lake!"With the freeing of the gondola we had lost almost all of our remaining altitude and skimmed a bare yard above the waters of Lake M_______.As an anchor we towed Fogg on his safety line and it was he that stilled our swing.

Passepartout lay on the deck senseless in pain, his arm damaged even more by the tossing, so it was up to Miss Jude and I.Quickly I freed the controls and set them all for rise, pulled the pins on the steering globe, angled for the shore and told Miss Jude to "hold it there," and then ran out to help Rebecca pull Fogg from the waters.I did not expect the Aurora to gain much altitude, but one thing the Fogg cousins have taught me is the efficacy of hope.

It was at this fateful moment that the Tchersky inhabitants introduced themselves.Their whirligig machine had been approaching us for some time, but we in our distress failed to observe until its rushing wind batted at the ballonet and tugged at Fogg's body that now hung by an ankle just over our starboard rail.Aurora shifted a little higher under the pressure of the whirligig's onrushing air and began to float quickly to shore.I was amazed at this infernal machine; but it seemed, at least for now, to assist us and I had no time to reflect or even give a nod.

At last Rebecca and I could hoist Fogg on deck.The beating wind of the whirligig had blown off Rebecca's hat and her Titian hair whipped wildly in its wind.In fact this current of air blew on us so hard, there was no choice but to drag Fogg's body into the salon where after untying the safety line, we could close the hatch and minister to him.

My hands were numb and my skin turning white.Rebecca looked no better but she was already on her knees."Phileas!Phil!Phil!" she cried over and over, shaking him and chafing his hands.I placed my fingers in my mouth to remove their numbness and then sought Fogg's carotid pulse under his chin.Nothing.His skin was icy and bluish white, his eyes open and widely staring.A cut on his brow failed to bleed.The man was without question dead.With pain in my heart I told Rebecca so but her wild face denied it.She would have it that her cousin could be revived and continued desperately to chafe his hands and arms.Then when I tried to pull her away, she used a practiced move to escape me and returned to her dead cousin's side.She took his limp shoulders and began to shake them crying, "Don't leave me here, Phil.Not alone!Please not alone!"

I dared not try to pull her away again but it hurt me to watch this.My own hands shook and my eyes stung.I could not bear it.Half of my heart lie dead on the floor and the other half looked to be gone to madness!So I gazed away into the observation room where I could see Miss Jude struggling with the unruly helm.Brave girl, her diminutive height made leverage on the globe hard enough without the icy coating of Passepartout's blood.It's a wonder she had any success at all.

Abandoning my grief in hope of rescuing the still living, I went and helped Miss Jude lock the helm globe in place again.Passepartout by this time was on his knees but looked like to return to the deck at any moment.I helped the poor man into the protection of the salon and laid him down.Tears now streamed unheeded from Miss Rebecca's eyes.In the minute she had spent alone with her cousin's unresponsive body, she had made her peace.She came to help Passepartout.

"Jules!Jules!" Miss Jude screamed."We're going to smash!"She had abandoned the helm and ran toward me.Behind her I could see snow covered land rushing toward us.

"Down!" I shouted and pushed Miss Jude to the deck just inside the salon entrance.Once again the Aurora's engineering designs were tested and proven true.The gondola dragged twenty feet through the snow before stopping but held together with never a dent, although I felt sure the undercarriage must be completely collapsed or missing.While the observation room had filled with snow and our portside portholes were buried, the starboard portholes showed daylight and we were mostly level.

The pressure from the whirligig must have indeed been powerful.It had been no more than five minutes since Fogg fell in the water and we were at that time at least a half mile from shore.Whether we willed it or no, the Aurora had landed.But what was surprising, except for one of us, we still breathed.

Then incongruity of incongruities, someone knocked on the starboard hatch.

Rebecca and I looked at each other.As Passepartout could not rise to perform manservant duties, I acted in his stead and was face to face with a tall blond man even younger than myself backed by three more men with rifles in their arms."Hi, I'm Gavin Michaels.Are you folks OK?" the blond one asked in accents reminiscent of our trip to Georgia.Looking past me, Michaels saw Fogg's lifeless body, and then quickly brought something to his mouth, saying, "Jesse, looks like the guy they keel-hauled is down.Grab the de-fib kit," he craned his neck some more, "and some blankets.They all look pretty bad.And haul ass, hon!"

"Be there in a sec!" was the feminine voiced reply.

Having said this, Michaels pushed past me without further ceremony and knelt beside Fogg's lifeless head.As I had, he felt the carotid artery and announced to the room in general, "No pulse!" He knelt at Fogg's chest.Hand coupled in hand, he pushed down firmly on Fogg's sternum, one, two, three, four times. One of Michael's companions put down his rifle and knelt beside Fogg on the other side.This one put his hand behind Phileas's neck and pulled it up, tilting the head back.Then the visitor pinched Fogg's nose, pulled at his chin, took a deep breath, bent over and blew it out into the man's mouth.He did this for several repetitions.Then the man at the chest resumed again.I came to realize both men were counting.Michael's assistant asked of Rebecca, the closest of us to him, "What's his name, ma'am?"She provided it to him, her voice hoarse and much subdued.The man began to shout in Fogg's ear, "Fogg, Phileas Fogg!Wake up, man!"They continued on in this manner, compressions, breaths, name shouting, tirelessly and without despair at Fogg's lack of response.

By this time our other two visitors had put down their rifles.One labored over Passepartout and his ugly wound, while the other came to check Miss Jude and I for damage.I watched Rebecca and Passepartout.Jean leaned his dark head against Rebecca as she held him in her arms.Their faces were like two mirrors, each with the same expression of pain, bewilderment and hope.They could not lift their eyes from the work of the two men on the floor.I fear I myself trembled, and Miss Jude tucked her silver head against my shoulder, unable to bear the proceedings, although God bless her, she stood strongly on her own two feet.

Another knock at the door was followed by the entrance of a young trousers-clad and brown-skinned woman I deduced was Jesse.She handed blankets to one of the earlier arrivals and hurried over to Fogg's side with a small metal case.As we survivors were gently draped with covers, Jesse opened her case to reveal a panel with knobs and other mysterious appointments.Michaels who knelt at Fogg's torso ripped his wool shirt open, revealing a white and motionless chest.Jesse picked up two flat-iron like items on coiled cords.Holding them in the air, she said, "Charging!" then, "It says it's ready!"

"Clear!" said the man at Fogg's head, and both men moved back.Jesse applied the flat irons to the bare chest and then Phileas's whole body contracted in paroxysm.I have seen such a convulsion once before in Paris, a laboratory demonstration using electricity on a frog.Electricity!They were treating him with electricity!

And then the unlooked for miracle, the incredible, the fantastic happened.Fogg began to choke.They rolled him over on his side and he spit out a great mouthful of water.The man had been dead for five minutes or more and yet he lived again.Rebecca tried to force herself past Jesse, but was pulled away."Not yet, Ma'am.We gotta stabilize him," her captor told her.All of us cried and laughed at the same time, the visitors included. The two men who had breathed for Phileas slapped hands together high in the air.Jesse yelped something that sounded like, "Wahoo!"One of the visitors then said, "Girl, you rule," and also slapped her hand up high.

Have I conveyed the profoundness of our relief?

The remainder is as I wrote before.We were brought here to Tchersky, although we were not told that until much later.Michaels and his crew left us in Doctor Talbott's care.Fogg took much time to fully re-awaken, and I slept some while waiting or talked quietly to reassure Miss Jude and Passepartout.Rebecca stayed constantly at Fogg's side and only took herself to bed after speaking to her cousin.

When Fogg opened his eyes, Rebecca's face was a revelation.As Passepartout says, these two cousins beatify together and most certainly after such a separation.Words flew back and forth."Rebecca, I thought I'd lost you," were Fogg's first raspy words as he awakened and found himself holding his cousin's hand.As it turns out, he'd seen her hanging off the starboard rail just before his own plunge into the water.

"No, you didn't.But I did lose you," was Rebecca's soft reply, "and got you back again."Fogg, of course, had no memory of his revival so only frowned and shook his head.

"Where are we?" and then with a squint, "I say, could you cover up the windows?The light hurts my eyes."It was 8:00 in the evening and the sun had gone down.Fogg complained of the wondrously bright electric lights.As I had already learned how to adjust the lighting, I obliged and turned out a few of the surgery's ceiling lamps.

"We're at Tchersky," Rebecca told him."The kidnappers seem to have captured us."

"What?" he said as the habits of command took over and he tried to arise.Rebecca pushed him firmly down again.He continued, "We were at least two days away when I shot the sun yesterday noon."

"Day before yesterday," Rebecca replied.Fogg's lips shaped an "Oh" of a reply.

Passepartout came shyly up and gave his master a Gallic kiss upon both cheeks.Fogg's surprised reaction was, "That bad off, was I?Must have given you quite a scare.You all look so solemn."

"Terrified us more like it," I assured him.

At that moment the physicians and guards came in and we had to leave Fogg.We were shown to these two connected dormitories that we've been imprisoned in since.They brought Fogg on a wheeled bed to join us the next day.

I think Fogg rather frightens Miss Jude now and she cannot bear to bring her blue eyes to his.Perhaps she sees in him Frankenstein's monster.This bothers him, I know.He would not have anything, much less his person, disturb such an innocent.On the other hand, Rebecca and Passepartout seek Fogg's company frequently and touch him often.This equally disconcerts him.It can be a burden to see so clearly your worth in the eyes of others.

But it is now four o'clock in the morning so I must repair to my bed or suffer the consequences on the morrow.Adieu, my journal.

   [1]: mailto:tchersky@beammeup.consortium.com



	7. Chapter 7

13 October 1862

Now I can write it down, now there is no longer concern of discovery!However, our attainment was not anything we'd envisioned.Our plot achieved the end of our captivity, but our true state of affairs has now been revealed and it is quite unexpected.

Our plans began several days ago.Fogg and Passepartout took care to appear slow in recovery.Fogg continued to limp long after his ankle stabilized and Passepartout grimaced much whenever the doctor treated his arm. Also, we early concluded that these kidnappers did not know the fighting skills of our two trained Agents and kept this secret.We contrived to look as helpless and pitiful as possible and apparently succeeded quite well.At times our guards acted more like nursemaids or servants than wardens.It was clear that we could break out if we so desired, but then where would we go?Rebecca recklessly insisted on action and Fogg counseled caution.As usual in the end Rebecca won.

For my part of the escape, I observed the lighting that brightens every room and traced how electrical current flows through wiring to the desk lamps.With that wiring, a small woven rug just inside our door and a pitcher full of water I prepared an electric trap to disable one or both of our guards.Rebecca and Fogg were to immobilize any that escaped, while Miss Jude and Passepartout would provide the impetus for entry.

Very late last night was the appointed time, when spirits and blood are low.Rebecca stood by the door so the guards could see her as they entered.Fogg and I were behind it on the other side.When we were all in readiness, Fogg nodded at Passepartout and Miss Jude.Miss Jude, as instructed, threw an every day ladies' hysterical fit.Lying on the floor, she started screaming, drumming the floor with her fists and heels and rolling back and forth.Passepartout ran to the door out of which stood the guards and beat heavily on it."Oh mon Dieu," he cried."Miss Carr she dying!Help, please help me!"This is a novelist's device hoary enough to have whiskers down to the waistband, but perhaps these guards had read no novels.Miss Jude was very convincing, as red faced and wild as if she really had had a seizure, and actually foaming at the mouth from an unsavory mixture of Passepartout's preparation.

As Passepartout ran back to Miss Jude, I applied the wiring to the wet rug.A faint clicking in our door preceded its opening.I could not see what then happened, but among them Passepartout, Miss Jude, and Rebecca had set a convincing scene.In came the first guard and went down like a felled ox when he stepped on my trap.I immediately removed the wiring from the rug so as not to stop his heart.The other guard was close behind.Rebecca knocked his ready pistol from his hands and then felled him with a quick blow behind the head.It was all very neat, quick and quiet and the two young men lay on the floor.

"Cousin, that was unkind.I was supposed to help you!" Fogg protested.

"You take the next one, Phileas," was her reply.

We dragged them in and tied them.How soon others would note their absence we could not tell but better hidden than sounding an alarm.Fogg and Rebecca each took one of their small black revolvers.

Down dimly lit hallways Fogg and Rebecca stole, holding their pistols straight before them at the ready.The rest of us followed.Perhaps we made a large party for such quiet stealing, but we could scarce leave any behind.Fogg led the way as he had seen much of the installation while assisting with Aurora's repairs.We traversed several corridors and passed an outside access.

Gesturing at a double door further down the hall, Fogg whispered, "I saw that door open yesterday.Quite a few scientist fellows were coming out and I could see behind them a whole wall of those zoetrope things.I'm for heading there."

"Really, Phileas?Spoiling for a fight, are we?" Rebecca returned quietly as she moved in the direction.

"Been too long abed, dear cousin," was Fogg's reply.

The doors had small viewing windows through which, despite the late hour, we could see a half dozen scientists and countless flashing devices at work within.I saw neither guards nor weapons.

Fogg's lips drew tight over his teeth in a fierce grimace."Shall we?" Rebecca asked."After you," Fogg responded, but they burst through the doors together, the rest of us trailing closely.

Pointing their guns around quickly, Fogg and Rebecca tried to cover every corner of this extraordinary room.The scientists looked up from their devices quite surprised.They all sat before panels very like flat typewriters.Each of those panels lay in front of a zoetrope across which figures, words and numbers crawled.As Fogg said, there were countless zoetropes in this room.

Fogg quite loudly said, "If you would be so good as to lie on the floor, it will save us all some time!"

None moved, but all looked to an older man seated at base of the largest item in the room, a cannon-looking device directed at a blank wall.He was clearly the leader.Fogg pointed his pistol at him."Tell them on the floor then!"The old man nodded at the others who moved to follow his command and shortly littered the floor with bodies.The old man stood up himself, however, and eyed Fogg very calmly.

"Jules Verne, I presume," the old man said in an American Southern accent.

"No, Fogg," was the reply, "Phileas Fogg.You have the advantage of me, sir."

"Phileas Fogg.Certainly.And I'm the Easter bunny."When Fogg raised his gun and moved several steps closer to make sure he wouldn't miss him, the old man the man thought better of his defiance and continued, "As I'm sure you know, I am Roger Michaels.I own BeamMeUp Corporation, at least until I run out of money.Perhaps you recall my son, Gavin?I understand he saved your life, Mr. Fogg."

"So my friends have told me, Mr. Michaels, but I have not memory of it.Now please tell me where you are keeping William Carr and we will be on our way," Fogg replied.Rebecca moved around the room as these two talked, checking the prone scientists for weapons and tipping chairs over them to hamper them from rising.

"And why should I do that, Mr. Fogg?You are here to steal the beamer, right?Who sent you?G.E.?Boeing?"

In one long step Fogg closed the remaining distance between himself and the elder Michaels and cocked his pistol.He held it to the older man's head.Fogg's eyes looked dangerous, his teeth were bared.Spacing out his words, as he does when infuriated, Fogg said, "I . . do . . not . . know . . Mr. GeeYee or Mr. Boeing.I . . seek . . only . . the child . . William Carr."

Michaels said, "You can threaten me all you want, Mr. Fogg.Threats come easy.But you'll never make the beamer work without me."

At this point Fogg moved his pistol from Michael's head to the mechanism behind him."This thing?This is your beamer?" he asked."I don't give a damn about this thing.Shall I prove it?Where shall I put a bullet hole, Mr. Michaels?Here?Here?"

The old man reacted much more strongly than when the gun had pointed at his head."No, don't!" he said.Then quickly, "Peters, get that little boy Gavin snagged with the probe last month."Engineer Peters roused himself from among the men and women still sprawled on the floor and was about the leave the room, when Fogg said, "No wait.Passepartout go with him."

"Gladly, Master," was that man's quick reply as he followed Peters out.

"Now you will tell us why you kidnapped William Carr, Mr. Michaels," Rebecca demanded.

"Can my people get off the floor, Miss, Miss uh, I didn't get your name?"

"It's Fogg, Mr. Michaels, Rebecca Fogg.Tell us why you took William and I'll consider it," she responded.

"We didn't take him, Mrs. Fogg.It was an accident.Our control over the beamer is rather limited.We sent that paper marker you found through and your William came back, first human to survive radio relocation.He seems just fine too.Really quite a remarkable little guy."

Miss Jude broke in here, "But there was a creature.I saw it!It stepped through and shot Rebecca and Mr. Fogg and they were bleeding, but they weren't!I saw it, I know I saw it!"

"You were there?You saw the beamer arrive?"Mr. Michaels was quite excited.Even some of the people on the floor craned up their heads.

Peters and Passepartout now returned with a howling William, upset from his middle of the night awakening.Miss Jude cared not that he howled.She ran to Peters and snatched her baby brother, making much over him, crying, laughing.It was a sweet reunion.The Aurora's crew gathered around Miss Carr to see the child that had brought us so far and through so much, Rebecca and Fogg trying to both cover the room and admire all at once.

A chair crashed as one of those on the floor tried to arise, and the cousins reacted instantly back to full battle mode.

"Look, Mr. Fogg.I think we should talk," Michaels said with his hands up."We're not kidnappers and I don't think you're really corporate spooks.If we put our cards on the table, maybe we can figure something out here."

As Fogg cannot resist a gambling allusion, I chose this moment to supply my scientific insight, "Fogg, I think this may be a teleportation device of some kind.If we share information with them, they may be able to send us home.I'm for a truce." 

Fogg's head inclined to his cousin, "Rebecca, I'm sure you have an opinion.Please give us the benefit."

"Well, Phileas," she began, "we certainly aren't going anywhere without their help.We can't handle their vehicles and the Aurora isn't airworthy yet, is she?"

Fogg shook his head."No, not yet," he admitted.He un-cocked the pistol and put it in his pocket."We'll listen.You talk."

Miss Jude has interrupted me, having brought little William for my admiration and supervision.He hangs in my left arm while I attempt to inscribe with my right.I have been assured by all that William's health is much improved, and although I did not see him in his former state, I can now testify that he is the most active of baby boys. I fear I must put down my pen and use both hands.


	8. Chapter 8

13 October????, evening

I have taken to putting question marks instead of the year because one of the fabulous things revealed in our discussions with BeamMeUp personnel is that, well, I died about a hundred years ago at the ripe old age of 75.They tell me that I wrote many books, at least one of them featuring Fogg and Passepartout.But they will not tell us the exact year or how we came to traverse time.I don't think they know answer to the latter, but fear it is uncontrollable side effect of their transportation device, like the hallucinations Miss Jude experienced or the shock that felled Fogg and Rebecca.

They are hoping to duplicate their previous transition in reverse and return us home.We have apparently supplied Michaels' engineers with essential aiming information.Of course, to materialize the Aurora within the walls of New Beltrain's London embassy would invite disaster, but pinpointing that location gives them a target for re-direction.

Michaels has tried to explain why I must return.Quite simply put, it's because he knows I have already done so.And although it is not certain, because I did successfully return to the past to become now famous, it is likely that the members of my party would arrive in safety as well.

Fogg only asked us each our wishes in this matter.Do we stay here in safety with no past or friends or purpose?Or gamble on this route to home or quite possibly to death?We each chose home.But we cannot depart today or tomorrow.Aurora cannot yet fly, and the engineers want her mid-air at transition.

Passepartout has struck up an acquaintance with a charming trapeze couple among our former captors.At least engineer Peters told me that they are "swingers."He rolled his eyes heavenward as he said so.I assume that like Jean they once performed in a circus and thus all will have much to share.Passepartout has gone to visit them this night.We do not expect him back before morning.

I see out my little window a flood of lights centered on the Aurora.She once again rests proudly on her skids.Her ballonets are nearly charged.Tomorrow we will take up residence again.Our departure is scheduled for the next morning after.Fogg and Rebecca have gone aboard to light the heating coils in preparation and inspect all the repairs once more.They have been gone a very long time.I feel much alone.What good is being an historical figure without family, friends, or love?

I see that Rebecca and Fogg have just left the gondola.They stand gazing up at Aurora's towering height.It is snowing large feathery flakes that catch in their hair and dust their coats.They laugh and throw handfuls of snow at one another.Fogg surrounds Rebecca with his long arms.Their breaths steam together in one vast thin cloud of white.She turns to face him.The sunshine of her smile I feel from here.If just once she would grace me with such a sweet regard, I would live on it forever.

Fogg bends over her.They are . . . 

I think I'd best go make myself a cup of tea.

14 October????, late evening

The morning snowed steadily and the wind blew from the north.We feared a delay, but the weather passed by noon.I cannot eat.Passepartout did not return until well after the breakfast hour.Fogg has not yielded all of his suspicion and snapped at Jean for being so late, although from the grin on Passepartout's face I would say he does not care.

I now write from aboard the Aurora.I wear my own clothes once again.It seems so long!I had forgotten how stiff they are.Fogg has dressed in full London regalia, the particularly fine blue coat that so becomes him and his finest diamond cufflinks.I don't think he plans to sleep tonight.He paces about the cabins, checking and re-checking every little fitting.Passepartout inventories the supply cupboards and will soon test the galley by preparing us a meal.

Rebecca assists Miss Jude in gathering supplies to care for William.Rebecca refuses to surrender to her skirts just yet.Miss Jude is too pre-occupied with William to be aware of anything so mundane as clothes.They join us here in a few hours.

We leave at the break of dawn, as we arrived here.

I shall not sleep tonight, I believe.Michaels has gifted me a decanter of good cognac, a return, he says, for many joyful hours of reading in his youth.Fogg's dipsomania that I have so frequently condemned now seems a very reasonable option.I surely cannot survive this night cold sober.I will pour Fogg, Passepartout and I two fingers each and see where it goes from there.

1 November 1862

I am now in Paris.I sit here in my laboratory at my own familiar table.When I arrived home a week ago, I went down to my knees and kissed these dusty floorboards.I have had enough of traveling for a while.

I would finish my account of the Tchersky journey and close out this journal.There is not much left to tell.

The morning dawned clear as the Aurora lifted into the air once again.It was my first good view of the installation since our arrival and then my heart and eyes were elsewhere.There was not much to see.Low and narrow metal buildings stretched in several rows connected by crossing-t's in three places.Smoke drifted from a larger building where Peters said the electricity was created.We were to hover as best we could over a flagpole that rose from the center of this installation.Fogg flew the helm but we all were in the observation room, even little William nestled in Miss Jude's arms.Passepartout's tea and cakes lay ignored in the salon.We waited.

Rebecca moved to stand by Fogg, "Phileas, I need to apologize for something."

"Now, Rebecca?This is hardly the time," Fogg replied, distracted with minute adjustments.

"I may never have another chance.It's about that silly argument before we arrived in Tchersky.I want you to know that I was in the wrong.I'm sorry."

Fogg looked down into her face, "Oh that!Cousin, you know that I will always be your most humble servant.Please think nothing of it," and kissed her gently on the cheek.At which precise moment the teleportation beam struck us.

Michael's engineers warned us of possible hallucinations or catatonia.We experienced something akin to an opium dream.All of us together, the same dream.In it we each fitted with the others, sensation overlapping sensation.I could not distinguish my own soul from those of my companions nor discriminate my vision from my hearing!Miss Jude's innocence left a sweet taste of sensation on my skin.William was a glow of life in my nostrils.I felt the sounds of Passepartout in my mouth and scented Rebecca with my fingers.Fogg's passionate mind enflamed me and my own body's fires ignited from holding all of them within.

It went on for an eternity and it was over in a moment, then the Aurora floated calmly over the English Channel as it had countless times before.A sailing clipper made way below.

Now I am home in Paris once again and this journal is completed.It was an amazing journey, a revealing journey, but I would think twice before embarking on such a trip again.


End file.
